


All the places we've been

by melissmallfic



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Adults, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Nurse!Mickey, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teacher!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissmallfic/pseuds/melissmallfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Ian and Mickey, told in two alternating timelines. In one, how they recover from a traumatic event. In the other, how they start to fall in love. </p><p>Mickey is an emergency room nurse and Ian is a high school teacher. They meet by chance in the ER, and they're immediately drawn to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What kind of trauma they're dealing with will be revealed eventually (and is pretty clearly tagged), but I promise I won't be describing anything in detail. There's nothing very mature in the first chapter except language, but eventually there will be.

His fingers were starting to get some feeling back in them. That was what he noticed first. He lifted one hand up to his face. There was something under his nails, blood maybe. And a bracelet of a bruise around his wrist. But at least he could feel it again.

His phone buzzed on the table next to the bed.

_where are u_

There were thirteen other messages, some from Mandy, a few from her friends. All asking him the same thing.

He swiped his phone open, but didn’t open the text app. He pulled up Instagram, immediately noticing that he’d been tagged in several photos.

At the top there was one that he wished he could unsee. His eyes were clearly unfocused, nearly rolling back into his head. And there was a hand on his arm that he didn’t recognize, definitely not someone who’d gone to the club with them.

Going back in time was less unpleasant. He and Mandy, arms around each other. They could almost pass for siblings who liked one another. But that was just the shots of Jaeger. 

There was a comment on Ian on that one.

_Gorgeous birthday girl! don’t let mick party too hard without me._

The phone buzzed in his hand and a text dropped down into the screen. He didn’t want to read it, but it lingered just long enough that he could.

_mick, i’m worried about you. just tell me where you are._

“Mr. Milkovich?” 

Mickey looked up. The nurse assigned to his room was standing in the doorway. There was a man in a suit behind her, clearly a cop.

“The detective’s here to take your statement now.”

***

There was blood dripping into his eye. The handful of gauze the school nurse had shoved at him on his way out the door had soaked through. He’d been sitting in the emergency waiting room for two and a half hours. 

“Ian Gallagher?”

He looked up and saw a guy around his brother’s age, standing near the main desk, holding a clipboard. Even with blood obscuring the vision in one eye, Ian could tell this guy was just his type.

“Yeah,” he said, standing up. But he was unsteady on his feet. 

Before he even realized it the nurse was by his side, gripping him firmly by the elbow.

“I got ya,” he said. His voice was rough, his accent thick. But there was something about his hold on Ian’s arm that made him feel safe.

He guided him to a bed and closed the curtain around them for privacy. The sound of a small child crying in the bed next to him put a lump in Ian’s throat. He sounded like Liam.

“Here, let me take that,” the nurse said, pulling the hand Ian was using to hold the gauze in place gently away from his head. “Damn. You get in a bar fight or somethin’?”

Ian snorted. “It’s like three in the afternoon.”

The nurse rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve definitely never had anyone come in drunk and beat up in the middle of the day.”

“Ah, so you’ve met my dad.”

The smile Ian got in return made his breath catch. 

“Got yourself an after-school special, too?”

“We’re in the south side of Chicago, aren’t we?”

“Every goddamn day.” The nurse came closer and held up a clean swatch of gauze to Ian’s head. “Gotta clean this up before the doctor comes in.”

It fucking hurt and Ian couldn’t help crying out. The pain made him dizzy, nauseous, gently as he was being handled.

“You okay?”

Ian swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. “Yeah, um, just a little sick.”

The nurse pulled his hand back, took his gloves off. “Lay back a second.”

He opened the curtain to step out and Ian tried to just focus on breathing. He did not want to throw up in front of the super hot nurse with the incredible blue eyes. 

Only half a minute went by before the nurse was back, small plastic cup in hand. He handed it to Ian and pulled a stool on wheels over to the side of the bed.

“Just take a sip. You’re good.”

The cool water was refreshing and made him feel just a tiny bit better. “Thanks.”

“So what happened here?” He flicked his eyes up to Ian’s head injury.

“I teach high school English.”

That smile was back. “That explains it.”

Ian laughed. “Two of my kids started fighting, one of them picked up a chair. I got in the middle, thinking I could calm him down. Leg of the chair, right to the fucking head.”

The nurse sucked in a sympathetic breath. “Ouch. Well, sorry for your luck, but you’re definitely getting a tetanus shot now.”

“Great. Tell me that’s one of the easy ones?”

“Nah, that shit hurts like a bitch.”

“That a medical term?”

The curtain opened abruptly. “Hey, Dr. L needs you. About that girl that came in earlier?”

“Alright, coming.” He gave Ian a small smile. “Feel better, Ian Gallagher.”

And then he was gone. Ian felt ridiculous for how disappointed he was to see the nurse go. He’d never even gotten his name.

The rest of his visit went by in a rush. A doctor finally came in, stitched up his head, gave him some aspirin, and a bitch of a tetanus shot. It was all very mechanical and impersonal. She never even asked him his name or what had happened.

He stood at the front desk, head pounding, waiting for an administrator to clear his insurance. It took him a second to notice that the nurse from earlier was sitting only a few feet away, talking on the phone. 

“You’re all set, Mr. Gallagher.” Ian was startled and looked back at the woman in front of him. She was holding out a small pile of paperwork to him. He took it from her and thanked her.

He started to walk towards the exit, but something drew him back. Maybe he was slightly concussed, but he had this feeling that he just shouldn’t walk out without talking to the nurse one more time.

He walked over to stand in front of him at the desk. The nurse flicked his eyes up and smiled apologetically, pointing to the phone. Ian nodded.

“You need something?” A woman in scrubs stood next to him, looking a little irritated. 

“I just had a question.” He motioned to the nurse, still on the phone, looking like whatever was being said on the other end was deeply important.

“I can answer your question. Do you want to know something about aftercare?”

“Oh, uh, I could just wait until he gets off the phone.” Ian felt himself blushing. “Thank you, though.”

“You don’t think I can answer your question? I’ve got the same degree he does.”

Ian felt rather than saw the nurse look up from his conversation.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just a--like, a specific question.”

“That I’m too stupid to answer?” She put her hand on her hip and cocked her head in a way that made Ian want to run. 

“Definitely not, no.”

“Well, then go ahead. I don’t have a penis, but I do have a brain.”

Ian nodded. “Of course.” He looked around and swallowed. Fuck it. “I was wondering if I could get  _his_ number. Can you help me with that?”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Ian stared at her, his chin jutted out in challenge. He heard a voice next to him say, “I’m gonna call you back.”

The woman recovered after a second and rolled her eyes. She turned to the nurse behind the desk. “That’s all you.” Then she turned on her heel and walked off.

When Ian dared to look over, he saw that the nurse was grinning, eyes practically sparkling with amusement. “Smooth, Ian Gallagher.”

Ian pulled his phone out. He unlocked it and opened a new contact, then handed it across the desk. Their fingers brushed a bit as the nurse took it.

“Can you put your name in there, too? Otherwise I’m going to have to put in something stupid. Like, Nurse Hottie or some shit.”

The nurse practically cackled and fell forward on the desk, head down. When he looked back up, he was shaking his head. “That is the lamest fucking thing I have ever heard.” But he smiled and bit his lip in this way Ian knew he could become addicted to. He started typing on the phone for a few seconds before handing it back to Ian.

Ian held it up and smiled back at him. “Mickey, huh?” Mickey nodded. “See you soon, Mickey.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was dawn when the cab finally pulled up outside his house. Mickey handed over a few bills and got out, shivering in the early morning cold. His clothes were evidence now, so he’d had to grab scrubs from his locker and they were doing nothing to keep out the chill.

He barely made it up one step before the front door was flung open. Mandy stood, backlit in the doorway. He could just make out the lines of mascara down in her face. But she wasn’t in her party dress anymore.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” she spit.

Mickey sighed and walked up the rest of the steps. He pushed past her into the house, just wanting to get to bed. No, first a shower, then bed. If he could ever fucking sleep again.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mandy grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face her. He smacked her hand away, hard. “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Fuck. Off,” he growled. He turned around again, but she stepped in front of him.

“No fucking way. You do not get to _disappear_ from my birthday party, make everyone fucking crazy looking for you, and then not tell me where the _fuck_  you’ve been.”

Mickey took a deep breath through his nose and tried not to scream. “Don’t worry about it.”

He shouldered past his sister, dead set on getting in the shower before he started to just peel off his own skin.

When he got to his room, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. He heard Mandy’s sharp intake of breath from the door to his room.

“What happened to you, Mickey?”

He knew there were bruises, he could feel them. Just like he could taste the cotton in his mouth from when he’d been swabbed, and the nagging pain like a paper cut under his nails where they’d dragged up whatever skin he’d scraped off the shadow he couldn’t remember.

“Just leave me alone.”

“Ian’s out of his mind worrying about you.” Mickey turned around. Mandy gasped and covered her mouth. “Mickey,” she said, and started to walk towards him.

He held up his hand and took a huge step backwards. “No, don’t.” He shook his head and fought the tears building in his eyes. “Tell him I’m fine. I just need to shower and get some sleep.”

“Who did this to you?” Mandy’s voice was so small. 

“I don’t know,” Mickey said, his voice breaking. He couldn’t take looking at her anymore and he definitely couldn’t take the way she was looking at him. He went into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning his back against it. The tears he’d kept at bay since he woke up in the hospital finally spilled out. He clapped a hand over his mouth to keep Mandy from hearing him sob. 

He only gave himself a few seconds to cry before he got undressed and turned the shower on, water hot as he could get it. It burned to step under the spray. But it was just what he wanted. He wanted to stop feeling phantom fingers on his skin, stop seeing his coworkers looking at him with pity and horror. He’d never be able to erase the total humiliation of coming to while one of the doctors he fucking hated described in detail exactly how he’d been violated. Even if he never remembered what happened, he’d have that.

The hot water ran out quickly, about the same time Mickey’s legs gave out. He sat, arms curled around his legs, letting the frigid water pour down on his head. He wanted to drown there. 

He jolted and nearly screamed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He realized he was shivering, his teeth chattering so hard it felt like they’d break. Mandy was saying his name and shutting off the water, wrapping him in a towel. She handed him a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, turning around so he could put them on. 

When she turned back around it was just in time to grab Mickey’s arm before he fell back into the tub. 

“I got you,” she said, even though she sounded like she didn’t. She led him back into his room and guided him under the covers. 

He almost asked her to stay, but that wasn’t something they did. And when he thought about waking up to someone else in bed with him he wanted to throw up. 

Even though he could barely fathom ever sleeping again, when his head hit the pillow it was impossible to stay conscious. He was exhausted, wrung dry. He faintly heard Mandy talking, a deep voice coming from the kitchen. But then he was gone.

***

“Can’t believe you live around the fucking corner and we’ve never met,” Ian said, shaking his head in disbelief. He and Mickey had just arrived at Mickey’s house, where he’d lived his whole life, and it was just a few minutes walk from Ian’s childhood home. 

Mickey shrugged and started to walk up the steps. “Probably a good thing. I don’t think I’d have been a very good date when I was sixteen.”

Ian laughed. “Let me guess. Major case of internalized homophobia?”

“Characterized by excessive violence and a reputation for exclusively banging fat chicks.” 

Ian groaned. “Yeah, well, you probably wouldn’t have been my type anyway.” He leaned against the railing and sighed, thinking about his younger self.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have been all over someone who was allergic to showers and thought juvie tats were a brilliant idea?” He wiggled his fingers, making the letters 'FUCK U-UP' dance in front of his face.

“Not unless you were also married, deeply in the closet, and about twice my age.”

“Damn, Gallagher. That is an impressive trifecta.” Mickey grinned and Ian grinned back. The whole night had been this way. The two of them teasing each other, easily making each other laugh. 

“You know what?” Ian asked.

Mickey lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“I think I owe that kid who threw a chair at my head an Edible Arrangement or something.”

Mickey smiled. “Why’s that?”

“Well, I may have gotten twelve stitches, but it was worth it for one of the best dates I’ve had in years.”

“Had? That mean this one’s over?” 

“It’s getting late.” Ian looked at his watch and then back up at Mickey, who was smirking at him. 

“Not a school night.”

“No, it’s not.” Ian looked Mickey up and down. He was tempted, so fucking tempted to go inside. If he’d thought Mickey was hot in hospital scrubs, he was pretty much smoking out of them. His work clothes just did not do justice to what turned out to be a pretty incredible ass. 

But he didn’t want this to just be a hook up. It would be easy to fuck and walk away, treat Mickey like the guys he’d been with in the recent past. This felt different though, like there might be something there. He was willing to change his M.O. to see what might happen.

“I should get home.” Mickey looked disappointed. “I had fun though.”

“Doesn’t have to end.” Mickey walked down the few steps toward the sidewalk, stopping when he was just one above Ian. It put him around Ian’s height. “Can I tell you something?” Ian nodded and swallowed when Mickey leaned in close to his ear. “I’m kind of a sure thing.”

Ian closed his eyes and sighed. “Tempting. Seriously.” He opened his eyes up and started to promise that they’d do this again soon, but was met with Mickey’s lips on his. He gasped and felt Mickey’s tongue take full advantage, sliding against his own. Mickey’s hand came up to grip the back of his neck, his thumb sliding along the stubble on Ian’s jaw. 

Ian felt his hands move of their own accord. One pressed against the small of Mickey’s back, pulling him closer. And the other cupped the side of his face, fingers brushing Mickey’s dark hair.

It felt like he was being devoured and burned alive at the same time. Mickey tasted like beer and the cigarette they’d shared on the walk home. And when Ian inhaled he could smell something that made him felt like he was going crazy. He moaned quietly when Mickey sucked his upper lip into his mouth and pressed his chest to Ian’s. His free hand gripped Ian’s shoulder tightly, hard enough that he’d probably have a bruise. 

He pushed back against Mickey, swiping his tongue along his teeth. He heard Mickey cry out and felt him nearly fall. Their mouths broke apart, but Mickey held him to stay upright, laughing breathlessly.

“You trying to break my neck or something?” he joked, looking down at the steps, where his ankles were practically bent backwards against the wood.

“Got carried away, I guess.”

Mickey let go of Ian to rub his bottom lip with his thumb before biting it into his mouth. He looked like he’d won something. “You gonna come in now? Or you gonna keep playin' hard to get?”

Ian leaned forward to kiss him again. But it was softer this time, close-mouthed and almost sweet.

“I gotta go. Can I see you tomorrow?”

Mickey sighed. “I gotta work tomorrow night.”

“Sunday?”

“Maybe. Working a 16-hour shift. Might be a little out of it.”

“We could watch a movie. I’ll make you dinner or something.”

“Tempting.” Ian laughed at his own word being thrown back at him. “Alright. Text me.”

“I will.” He saw Mickey’s eyes flick down to his mouth, but he didn’t move to kiss Ian again. He’d clearly put himself out there enough for one night. 

“Night, Gallagher.” Mickey turned to head up towards his front door, but Ian grabbed him by the wrist before he could get very far.

He put both hands up to the sides of Mickey’s face and pulled him close, kissing him firmly. Mickey sighed into his mouth and kissed him back. Ian could tell he was already a goner for Mickey’s lips. 

They stayed that way until they were both gasping for air. Mickey pulled back first, leaning his forehead against Ian’s. Ian smiled.

“Night, Mick.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This latest chapter has a couple slurs in the "angst" portion, just fair warning.

“You heard from the cops yet?” Ian’s voice broke Mickey out of his daze.

“Huh?”

“About your report. They call you or anything?”

Mickey shook his head, ignoring the guilty tightness gathering in his chest. Ian had laid off for a few days, but he could tell it’d been hard for him. He could almost feel Ian thinking about it constantly, biting his tongue so that Mickey wouldn’t shut down.

“Why don’t you give me the number? I don’t mind calling. Fucking cops, ya gotta babysit them with this kinda shit. They’ll just forget about you.” Ian looked like he was getting worked up. Mickey recognized his social justice face. He got this way sometimes about his students were treated. About how the man was always keeping them down.

“It’s okay.” Mickey just wanted to stop talking about it. He knew it would be impossible, but it was all he wanted.

“It’s no trouble. I want to help.” Ian reached across the kitchen table and put his hand on top of Mickey’s. Mickey used to love those hands. He’d hold their hands up together when they were lying in bed, squeezing and releasing Ian’s long fingers. They did amazing things to him, those hands, and they were beautiful. It wasn’t Ian’s fault that it made his skin crawl to be touched now. But it was Ian’s fault that he kept forgetting the way Mickey felt.

Mickey pulled his hand back and put in his lap, not looking at Ian. His chest was so tight he knew he’d be breathing poorly in a minute. He wanted a fucking cigarette, but he’d run out the day before and for some reason the thought of going outside was making him itch. He hated asking Mandy to do it because she’d want to talk, too. Everybody wanted to talk, regardless of how Mickey felt about it.

“Mick? Let me do this for you.” Ian’s voice was so gentle, but Mickey could hear the desperation. Ian had a hero complex, it was one of the things Mickey initially liked about him. He thought he could save everyone.

“You can’t,” he said quietly.

“Why not? I’ll tell them I’m you if they ask. They won’t know. Just, where’s the number?”

Mickey slammed both fists on the table and Ian nearly toppled his chair over backwards.

“There’s no fucking number. So stop asking.”

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Mickey could only hear the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and his breath wheezing from his lungs. The tickle of bile was at the back of his throat, seemed like it was almost always there now.

“Why isn’t there a number? They gave you a case number when you filed the charges, right?”

“No.” Mickey closed his eyes. All he could think was how much he did not want to throw up. But he might, if Ian kept talking.

“They had to, Mick. I’ll just call them, I’ll figure it out.” Mickey heard him stand up from the table to go get his phone.

“There’s no case number because I didn’t file any fucking charges.” Mickey opened his eyes to see Ian looking stunned. “Are you done now?”

Ian’s mouth opened and closed while he tried to formulate a response. “Why?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Ian took a deep breath, his chin jutting out. He was furious and it made Mickey just a little bit happy to see it. “Why would you do that?”

“You really this stupid?”

“The cops can’t find that motherfucker if you don’t file charges.”

“They were never gonna fuckin’ find anyone, Ian.”

“You don’t know that.” Ian’s face was red and Mickey saw tears starting to form in his eyes.

Mickey laughed bitterly and stood up, putting his hands on the back of the chair for support. His stomach felt purely acidic. “Okay, they find him. Then what?”

"Then they fucking charge him, put him in jail for what he did to you.”

“Right, yeah. But he’d have to go to trial first?” Ian nodded, looking confused. “And they’d probably have to put me on the stand, right? ‘Cause nobody else saw anything, or they’d have said something by now.”

Ian flushed a deeper red. Mickey was sickly pleased. He finally saw where Mickey was going with this. “It could work, Mick. They could put him away.”

“Yeah, definitely. After I admit, under fucking oath, that I took a drink from a stranger. That before that even happened, I was fucking lit.”

“That doesn’t matter, that doesn’t mean you asked for it.”

“No. But that’s not all. See, that wasn’t my first time in that stupid club. I used to go there all the time, when I wanted to get blind fucking drunk and take some anonymous dick into the back alley and get fucked. They probably could have ten guys in that place to say they’d fucked me before and didn’t even know my fucking name.”

Ian closed his eyes and Mickey watched the track of tears come to rest under his chin. “That still doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

“Maybe not to you. But what kind of jury you think I’d get around here? A dozen upstanding fags who’d cry me a river and send back a guilty verdict?” Mickey shook his head. He wiped his hand over his face, realized he was crying, too. “No, that’s not real life, Ian. It’s gonna be a bunch of homophobic pricks, all too happy to point out what a stupid, worthless faggot I am. How I got _exactly_ what I deserved.”

Ian buried his face in his hands and his shoulders started to shake. But it only lasted a few seconds before he was pulling them away and moving towards Mickey.

“You didn’t deserve it. Please, Mick, you have to believe me. I won’t ask about the police anymore, just. Fuck. Don’t think that way.” He reached out for Mickey’s hands and Mickey backed up until he hit the wall.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He bit his lip hard to keep from gagging. “Go home, Ian. Leave me alone.”

“I don’t want to.” Ian let out a sob. “I love you.”

“Get the fuck out.” Mickey turned and headed back towards his bedroom and straight through into the bathroom. The sad contents of his stomach, mostly alcohol, came up in a violent rush. He coughed and spit when it was over, reaching out for a wad of toilet paper to wipe the tears and snot from his face. He sat back on his heels, knees aching from hitting the tile floor so hard.

A few minutes went by while he sat there on his knees. He heard the front door slam. He was finally alone.

***

“You hungry?” Ian asked, turning onto his side to face Mickey.

Mickey was still panting hard, trying to get his bearings after the knockout of a fuck they’d just had. “What?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s go get breakfast.” He leaned forward and kissed Mickey on the side of the neck quickly, then practically jumped out of bed.

“Jesus Christ, my dick’s barely gone soft. How can you think about food?” Mickey attempted to sit up, got about an inch off the mattress, and then changed his mind. “Fuck it, I’m stayin’ right here.”

Ian pulled his boxers up over his hips and groaned. He walked over to Mickey’s side of the bed and grabbed his closest hand and pulled. “Come onnnnn. My sister manages this diner, they have the _best_ fucking pie.”

Mickey allowed himself to be pulled up, not stopping himself from falling against Ian’s chest. Ian wrapped an arm around Mickey’s back and kissed his temple.

“Thought you wanted breakfast,” Mickey mumbled against Ian’s shoulder. He let his lips linger there. Ian tasted like salt and sweat.

“Pie is breakfast. Let’s go!” He slapped Mickey on the ass and ran for the bathroom.

The diner was busy, but Fiona ignored the complaints of customers who’d been waiting to give Ian and Mickey a spacious booth near the window. She handed them both menus, assessing Mickey from head to toe as she did so.

“Nurse Hottie does exist.”

Ian swatted her with his menu, his cheeks red. Mickey tried and failed not to laugh. “That’s me, I guess.”

“You’ve been keepin’ him pretty busy this past month. We barely see him anymore.”

“Fiona,” Ian said, warning in his tone. Mickey bit his lip to keep from smiling at the not-so-subtle daggers Ian was shooting his sister. “Can we have a minute to look over the menu?”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t know exactly what you want.” She looked at Mickey again and grinned. “Be right back.”

Ian lowered his forehead to the table and buried his face in his arms. “Why are family so embarrassing?”

“Just part of the job description.” Mickey picked up the menu so Ian couldn’t see his face.

“Mr. Gallagher?”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Ian muttered. Mickey couldn’t contain his glee anymore. There was a literal gaggle of teenage girls standing over their table.

“Hi, Mr. Gallagher,” one of them said, a blonde. She looked Ian up and down in a way that took Mickey’s enjoyment level down a notch.

“Hi, Courtney. Hi, girls.” He greeted the rest of them and looked at Mickey like he wanted to jump through the plate glass window next to their booth. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Getting some breakfast, duh,” Courtney said. “Is this your boyfriend?” She stared Mickey in the eye while she asked. The south side thug in Mickey both wanted to deny that he was there with Ian and tell the little bitch to back off. He kept quiet, since neither would score him any points.

Ian tried to fight it, but a blush came to his cheeks. He looked over at Mickey, which in turn made Mickey nervous. Maybe Ian wasn’t that serious about him. It hadn’t been that long, and they definitely hadn’t had the relationship conversation.

“This is my friend, Mickey.” Mickey had to actively fight to keep from frowning. It didn’t matter. If Ian didn’t feel like calling Mickey his boyfriend in front of a bunch of teenage brats, it was no skin off Mickey’s back. Things between them were fine.

Courtney smirked and gave her friends a slick, knowing look. Now Mickey pretty much wanted to clock her with a coffee urn. “Alright. See ya, Mr. Gallagher.” She wiggled her fingers goodbye and the other girls giggled and trailed after her.

“Maybe we should have stayed in bed,” Ian said, sounding less lighthearted than he clearly wanted to.

Before they could talk more, Fiona came back with coffees and took their breakfast orders. There was a few minutes of awkward silence after she left them, both of them sipping their coffees and looking anywhere but at each other.

“Mick, I’m sorry,” Ian said, reaching across the table to touch Mickey’s hand. “I didn’t think things were gonna get so weird. I should have known better.”

Mickey pulled his hand back and took another sip of coffee. “It’s cool.”

“I just. I don’t know you feel about it, but I don’t want to pressure you to be exclusive or anything.” Ian staring down into his coffee, and Mickey realized he looked sad.

“What are you talking about?”

“My sister, my students. None of that was exactly smooth.” Ian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t really do boyfriends.”

Mickey felt totally lost. He thought _Ian_ was the one who didn’t want to commit. “When did I say that?”

“Like two weeks ago, when were at the Alibi. You were telling me about that doctor you went out with?”

Fuck. Mickey wiped a hand over his face. He’d been hooking up on and off with one of the doctors at the hospital for about a year. It was nothing serious, just a number to dial when he was drunk and horny. But he’d been blowing the guy off since he met Ian. When he’d called and asked Mickey to grab a drink, Mickey felt like he had to go, officially break things off. Clearly he’d buried the lede when recounting the night to Ian.

Mickey laughed. Ian sat back like he’d been slapped. “Shit, Ian, no. I was breaking up with him. Because of this.” He motioned between the two of them.

“So you two didn’t fuck?”

“No.”

Ian slumped forward in relief. “Thank god.”

“You must think I’m a real dick if you thought I’d just casually slip in how I’d fucked somebody else.”

Ian smiled. “You can be kind of a dick sometimes.” Mickey smiled back. “So does that mean you _want_ to be boyfriends?”

“What are you asking stupid fucking questions for?”


	4. Chapter 4

The head administrator, Carol, was waiting for him when he got out of the locker room. She had her arms crossed over her chest and a deep frown etched on her face. Her lips barely turned up when she noticed Mickey step out.

“Come to my office.”

“I have a patient.”

“No, you don’t. Lorraine’s handling your side of the floor. Let’s go.” She turned and started walking in the direction of the elevator, not bothering to see if Mickey was following.

When they got to her office, Mickey sat in the chair across from her desk. He wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs, dreading whatever speech she had prepared for him. He didn’t want to hear anymore about how everyone supported him and was there for him. He was sick to death of the kindly, pitying looks he got from his fellow nurses. It turned out the one person he could stand was his least favorite doctor, who continued to behave exactly like the know-it-all prick he always was.

“You have two choices, Mickey. I can suspend you without pay until you pass a mental health assessment. Or you can take your short-term disability leave for a few weeks, come back when your head is clear.”

It felt like all the blood left his body. “What?”

“You almost killed a patient today.” Carol looked down at a piece of paper on her desk. “I have two complaints from doctors who don’t want you in their rooms anymore.”

Mickey swallowed, hating that he felt like he might cry. “I did _not_ almost kill that kid.”

“You had the wrong dosage of the medication he needed. If the doctor hadn’t double-checked you, it could have been fatal.”

“But nothing happened. It was fine.” He knew it wasn’t fine. When he realized what he’d done he’d nearly passed out. He’d practically sprinted to the locker room to be alone, get his head on straight. He’d never made a mistake like that before and it was terrifying.

“Mickey, I’m not going to argue with you. I told you your choices. If you want, you can go home now and call me with your decision tomorrow.” She handed him a folder, thick with paperwork.

He flipped it open and saw that one pocket had information on a suspension. The other included forms for his disability leave. He snapped it shut.

“I fucked up. I know I fucked up. But I’ll go home, get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

Carol shook her head. “You’re not hearing me. If you want to have a job here, call me tomorrow and tell me you’re going on leave.”

Mickey bit his lip and looked down. He felt a few hot tears escape, followed by total humiliation. He was just so fucking tired, it was like he had no control anymore. At least Carol seemed to know what he needed and didn’t say anything. She just sat quietly and waited for him to look up. When he did he expected to see the same pity he got from everyone else. But she was just watching him.

“You’re a good nurse, Mickey. I want you to stay here with us. But you have to take care of yourself first.” She stood up and walked over to the door, opening it for him. “Get some rest. Get some help. Then come back.”

Mickey nodded and stood up. Carol let him walk past her without another word. He was grateful she didn’t try to hug him.

He thought about going to his locker, clearing out his stuff. But there was nothing in there he needed, and he couldn’t bear the thought of having to explain to someone what he was doing. He walked out the front door of the hospital, ignoring the security guard’s goodbye. It was five miles to his house, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of getting on the L. All those people crowded into the car, bumping into him. It was like being suffocated.

The walk was blurry. It felt agonizingly slow, but that he was home too fast. Mandy was on the couch when he walked in the front door.

“Thought you had work today,” she said. She had that concerned look on her face that seemed pretty permanent these days.

“Don’t anymore.” Mickey walked into the kitchen, rolling his eyes when he heard Mandy trailing behind him. He pulled a bottle of whiskey down off the top of the fridge and poured a tall glass.

“What happened?”

Mickey didn’t answer, just slammed back his drink and poured another. Mandy leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

“What?”

“How long you planning on being like this?”

Mickey snorted. “Jesus, that what passes for sympathy around here?”

Mandy shook her head, a strange, half-smile on her face. “You got some real fuckin’ nerve, you know that?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said. She stepped into his space, crowding him against the fridge. He wanted to shove her, but held back, not wanting to let know how much it bothered him to have someone so close. “Where was your sympathy when Dad was doing that shit to me?”’

Mickey felt his blood run cold. He’d suspected, okay, he’d known, his dad had done some fucked up shit to Mandy. But he tried not to think about it. And she never brought it up.

He looked up at her. Her face was stone cold, angry. She looked him dead in the eye like a challenge. If he didn’t already feel like a failure and a fuck-up, he certainly did now.

“I’m sorry.”

The cold look stayed frozen on her face for a few seconds longer before she crumpled. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in close. His heart was racing and he could feel that hers was, too.

“Me, too, Mick,” she whispered.

They stayed that way only briefly, but it felt like a long time to Mickey. It felt like a test of will, like walking over hot coals, or holding his hand over an open flame. When she stepped back, the relief was immediate and the shame for that relief followed.

“We’re not good at this shit, are we?” she asked. She had that half-smile back, but this time it wasn’t so bitter.

“Nope, not on the list.”

They both looked away, feeling awkward. Milkovichs didn’t do feelings. They drank them away, or choked the life out of them, or locked them away so tight they couldn’t breathe.

But Mickey felt like something had moved inside him, just an inch or two. Towards what, he didn’t know. But when he looked at his sister, he at least saw understanding. They shared something awful, but at least they weren’t entirely alone.

“How do you…” Mickey trailed off, picking his drink up off the counter for something to do with his hands. Mandy didn’t press him, just looked at him patiently. “Do you ever forget?”

Mandy sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “Sometimes.”

Mickey nodded. They didn't say anything for a bit, both deep in thought. After a minute or two, Mandy put her hand on Mickey's upper arm. He didn't flinch away.

"Just 'cause this shit happened..." She took a deep breath and let it out, looking Mickey in the eye. "Doesn't mean we're not allowed anything good."

***

Theoretically they were supposed to be watching a movie. But the title credits had barely run before Ian’s hand was up Mickey’s shirt. By the time Mickey was straddling Ian’s lap, he couldn’t even remember what movie they’d put on.

Mickey reached for the top button on Ian’s jeans and tugged. As if the movement was connected, the lights went on in the living room. Mickey nearly fell off of Ian’s lap he was so startled.

“Oh god, don’t fuck in the living room. Please,” Mandy moaned, her eyes covered with her arm.

“I thought you were working,” Mickey ground out through gritted teeth. Ian was hiding his smile behind his hand, so Mickey pinched his stomach hard. Ian cried out and swatted him.

“Place was dead, they cut me loose,” she said, throwing herself on the couch next to Ian. “Whatcha watching?”

Ian and Mickey looked at each other, then burst out laughing. Ian answered. “No fuckin’ clue.”

“Well, start it from the beginning. I’ll make popcorn.” She got back up off the couch, slapping Ian on the thigh as she walked out.

Mickey rolled his eyes and groaned. He looked over at Ian. “If I kill her, will you help me hide the body?”

“I heard that!” Mandy called from the kitchen.

“Good! Take a fuckin’ hint already!” Mickey yelled back. Ian squeezed his thigh and leaned over to press a kiss to the side of his neck. “Fuckin’ cockblock.”

“To be continued,” Ian promised.

Mandy strolled back into the living room, a beer dangling from her hand. “So, he ask you yet?” she said, looking at Ian.

Ian looked confused and turned to Mickey. “Ask me what?”

“Shit,” Mickey muttered.

“What, you don’t want him to go?”

“Of course I want him to go, I fuckin’ forgot!”

Mandy made a face and then put on a bright smile for Ian. “Ian, would you like to come to my birthday party next week?”

Ian laughed. “Yeah, of course. Where is it?”

“Gay bar in Boystown. The Fairy Tale,” Mandy said. The microwave beeped from the kitchen. Mandy took a swig of her drink and headed back to the kitchen.

“Why does she want to go there?” Ian asked, looking uncomfortable.

“Because my sister and her stupid friends think they want to dance like skanks without getting molested. Twenty bucks says they fuckin’ freak out when nobody hits on them.”

“I heard that, too, asshole,” Mandy said, sitting down on the couch. She placed the popcorn on the coffee table in front of them. “You ever been there, Ian?”

Ian turned a little red and coughed into his hand. “Uh, yeah, couple times.”

Mickey and Mandy looked at each other and then narrowed their eyes at Ian. “Why you bein’ weird?” Mickey said.

“I’m not being weird,” Ian said, sitting up straighter on the couch. When he realized what he’d done, he tried to force himself into a more casual position. “Let’s put the movie back on.” He grabbed for the remote, but Mickey was faster. He held it away from Ian’s reach.

“You got an ex works there or somethin’?”

Ian shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and shook his head.

Mandy’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She gasped and pointed at Ian. “I knew I recognized you!” She reached around Ian to shove Mickey. “I can’t believe _you_ didn’t. You practically lived there for a while.”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Mickey said. He looked at Ian, how he was practically folding in on himself. “You know what she’s talkin’ about?”

Ian sighed and glared at Mandy. Then he turned to Mickey and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Speak fuckin’ English, Gallagher.”

Ian threw his hands up in defeat. “I used to go-go dance there.” He turned back to Mandy and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t expect a present from me.”

Mandy burst out laughing and fell back onto the couch. Mickey sighed in relief.

“Jesus, that’s it? Thought you were gonna tell me you were turnin’ tricks in the back room or something.” Ian grimaced. Mickey thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. “You fuckin’ kidding me?”

“Some weird shit went down after I went AWOL, alright?”

Mickey looked around, half expecting to see a reality show TV crew standing in his living room. “Anything else you want to share?”

Mandy crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Seriously, Mick? You’re one to talk.”

“The hell are you on about?”

Ian looked curious and somewhat hopeful. Mandy grinned and Mickey felt his stomach drop. “You tell Ian about that time you married a Russian hooker?”

Mickey took a deep breath and started thinking of ways he could kill his sister without getting caught.

“You were _married_?” Ian asked. In Mickey’s opinion, he looked more pissed off than he had any right to be, given his own sordid past.

Mandy stood up, grabbing the bowl of popcorn. “Thanks for the show.” She grabbed a few kernels and tossed them into her mouth, smiling brightly. “You two really make a great couple.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late!

Mickey hadn’t heard from Ian in nearly two weeks. After he told Ian to leave, Ian texted and called a few times. Mickey never answered. He deleted the voicemails without listening to them.

He hadn’t gone to work in over a week. It was strange at first, but then it was oddly freeing. Initially it bothered him that he couldn’t fall asleep until the sun came up, that his heart beat too fast from lack of it.

Mandy had left the house unexpectedly; an old boyfriend she’d once lived with in Indiana was back in town. Mickey celebrated his solitude by drinking early and often, spending his days moving back and forth between the couch and the kitchen, avoiding his bedroom altogether. He kept the TV on constantly, the sound a sort of comforting white noise, not allowing him to venture too deep into his own thoughts.

On one of his trips back into the living room he noticed that a movie had come on. It was that movie he and Ian were watching the night they emptied all the skeletons out of their closet. Mickey remembered the relief he felt and getting his own strange and uncomfortable history out in the open. And it made him feel good to knock Ian down a few notches from Prince Charming. Not many, but enough to reassure him that Ian might not wake up one day and realize he could do much better than Mickey.

He sat down heavily on the couch, beer in hand, the remainder of the six-pack tossed on the coffee table. The movie was dumb, some action flick heavy on the explosions, light on the logic. But he felt himself getting oddly choked about it.

He had been so close to having one of those lives so boring that made people roll their eyes. Decent job, semi-functioning family, and a smoking hot boyfriend. It wasn’t what he’d ever imagined for himself growing up. But he’d gotten used to it, maybe too fast. Maybe it would have been better to never have it all then to get a taste and have it taken away in a heartbeat.

Mickey felt his fingers itch from wanting to pick up the phone. He started a chant in his head. _Don’t text him. Don’t text him. Don’t text him._

Ian deserved to get out when he did. He had a chance at a normal life. Sure he had his own shit, with the bipolar and his crazy fucking family. But he didn’t need to be chained to a damaged person like Mickey. Not when he could find someone whole.

Somewhere in his brain, Mickey knew Ian might not feel that way. But people didn’t always know what was best for them while they were in it. He made the right decision, he felt sure of it. And this way he’d figure out the new normal on his own, nobody watching him stumble and fall along the way.

Mickey let the movie wash over him, drinking all the while. It was really terrible, hard to believe they got through it the first time. One particular line was said, one of those lines anyone who’d ever seen a movie in their life could actually predict verbatim before hearing it on screen, and since Ian was a cheesy motherfucker, Mickey remembered how hard he’d laughed. Mickey found that he was crying, reaching for his phone without thinking.

_can you come over_

He dropped the phone on the couch like it was on fire and got up, going to the bathroom to take a piss, just to not be near it. He walked back into the living room as slowly as humanly possible and made a point not to look at his phone right away. He wasn’t sure which feeling was more prominent, wanting Ian to have written him back, or wanting Ian to ignore him.

He touched his phone after a few seconds and woke it up.

_of course. now?_

_yeah_

Mickey got off the couch again and went into the kitchen, suddenly desperate for something harder than beer. He’d killed the last of the whiskey the day before, all that was left in the freezer was a half empty bottle of flavored vodka. He took two huge pulls and put it back, nearly gagging from the unnatural taste. Things quickly went blurry, softening at the edges. He felt less anxious about seeing Ian again, being so needy.

He couldn’t be sure how long it took for Ian to show up. It might have been ten minutes, it might have been two hours. When he answered the door Ian was standing there, beautiful as ever. His hair was damp, darker, it might have been raining outside. His expression was soft, but it didn’t look like that pitying, poor Mickey look everyone else gave him.

“Hey, Mick,” he said, giving him a small, close-mouthed smile. “Want to let me in?”

Mickey nodded, stumbling a little to move out of the way. Ian looked like he wanted to reach out to offer some stability, but he kept his hands to himself. Mickey locked the door behind him, and followed Ian into the living room. They sat on the couch, a foot or so between them.

Ian let there be silence for a few minutes then said quietly, “You okay?” Mickey shook his head no, biting his lips hard. Ian nodded. “What can I do?”

“Will you make me feel good?” Mickey said. He didn’t quite know where those words came from, but when he heard them out loud he knew what he meant. Ian clearly didn’t, and looked even more confused when Mickey straddled his lap. He leaned his forehead against Ian’s breathing hard. “I just wanna feel good.”

Ian pulled back a bit, but his hands settled on Mickey’s waist. They felt warm and strong, they didn’t burn or hurt at all. “I don’t know.”

Mickey leaned in closer, brushed his lips softly across Ian’s, feather-light. “Please,” he whispered.

Ian nodded, but didn’t move, just looking at Mickey’s face, keeping his hands on him. Mickey leaned down to kiss him, firmly this time. Ian let him set the pace, mirroring Mickey’s movements. When Mickey opened his mouth, Ian did, too. Mickey sighed and moved closer, wrapping his arms around Ian’s shoulders, bringing them chest-to-chest. Ian tentatively slid his hands from Mickey’s waist up his back.

It was good, Mickey felt so good. Kissing Ian was like breathing, it felt natural and right, he felt lighter and whole. His head was spinning from the alcohol and Ian’s scent surrounding him. They just fit together and worked perfectly again, even after all the time apart. Thoughts were entering his mind, but none of them were catching hold, it was just lips, and skin, and breath, and Ian under him.

He ground down onto Ian’s lap, felt his arousal, and like a picture snapping into focus, felt his own. Panic washed over him, nausea chasing after it.

“Wait, wait,” he said, stiff-arming Ian’s chest and swallowing hard against the bile at the back of his throat.

Ian was instantly on high alert, maneuvering Mickey off of his lap and onto the couch. Mickey allowed Ian to rub his back in slow circles, even though the calm and comfort that came from his touch earlier was nearly gone.

“You want some water?” Mickey nodded and Ian left to get it. When he returned, he watched Mickey carefully as he took small sips. Mickey handed the glass back to him after a while and leaned back, his neck bent back to stare up at the ceiling.

Ian didn’t touch him or say anything, just sat, waiting. Before Mickey’s thoughts had felt like smoke, too thin to cause any harm. But now it felt like they were choking him. There were so many and they came so fast, it was hard to decipher anything through the pain and fear and shame.

He felt tears start to leak from the corner of his eyes, soaking the hair at his temples. He was too tired and too dizzy to even wipe them away.

“You want to talk about it?” Ian asked softly.

Mickey didn’t move his head or try to sit up. “About what?” he croaked.

“How you’re feeling right now.”

“I have no fuckin’ idea how to talk about that.”

“Okay, anything then.”

Mickey struggled and finally sat up, looking at Ian. He felt too slow to comprehend what Ian was asking. “What?”

Ian put his elbows on his knees and leaned in a bit. “I want to understand, however much I can, what you’re going through. I did it all wrong before, I was trying to fix everything. Make you better. But I just want to get it, ya know? Understand something.”

“Like what?” In that moment Mickey realized how badly he wanted Ian to understand. How much it would mean to hear this person say the words ‘I understand,’ and love him anyway.

“What do you keep thinking about? Like, what’s the thing that just keeps gutting you? I can tell something is, I just don’t know what.”

Mickey sat for a moment, trying to think through the haze of something that might make sense if something similar had never happened to him. How he could get through to someone the guilt and the embarrassment and the thoughts that were always just there waiting to surface 

“You ever lose something valuable? Or, like, miss a train you really needed to catch?” he asked after a while.

Ian wrinkled his brow, surprised by the questions. “Yeah.”

Mickey nodded. “You ever think about all the little steps you took, all the things you did that ended up with you losing your wallet or getting to the platform just as the train pulled away?” Ian nodded. “You ever think, fuck, if I hadn’t answered that text I would have remembered that I put my phone down on that bench? Or, if I hadn’t stopped to tie my shoe, I would have gotten there just in time?” Ian nodded again.

“Think about that times a million. All I can think about is if I hadn’t done one stupid fucking thing, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Or, maybe, I would be, but instead of being fuckin’ drunk and miserable, we’d be naked and happy as shit.” Ian gave him a small smile. “I keep thinking about how some guy I didn’t even know just handed me a drink and I took it. Not even the stupidest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever done, and that was it. It was that fuckin’ simple. If I could go back in time and tell him to fuck off instead of throwing it back, my entire life would be different right now.”

He looked over at Ian, leaning his head back against the couch again, mostly to keep it upright. He felt so heavy, so tired. The tears had started up again, but he barely noticed. Ian reached out and brushed a few away.

“I can’t stop thinking about that and how it makes it my fault. I did this. I’m the reason I’m here right now, like this.”

Ian shook his head and moved in, pulling Mickey to his chest. He didn’t say anything, just held him tight. Mickey started to cry harder, arms reaching around to clutch at the back of Ian’s shirt. Ian stayed quiet, making only the occasional soothing noise, and brushing Mickey’s hair with his hand.

Eventually Mickey felt himself start to calm down. Physically, he felt like dog shit. And emotionally he felt like a wet rag that had been rung out and twisted into oblivion. But Ian was holding him and the part of him that wanted to pull away was quieter than it had been for a while.

Ian was the one to pull back a bit, trying to get a better look at Mickey’s face. He brought his hand up and brushed his thumb against Mickey’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?” What Ian could possibly be thanking him for, Mickey didn’t know.

“For talking,” Ian said. He leaned in to kiss Mickey’s cheek. “I won’t ever really understand everything. I know that. But I understand more. And I just want to be here. As long as you’ll let me.”

Mickey nodded. He looked into Ian’s eyes, searching for doubt or fear. He didn’t find it.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” 

***

It occurred to him that it took longer than usual for Ian to answer the door when he knocked. But he wasn’t expecting a sweaty, pale mess where his boyfriend once was.

“Hey, Mick,” Ian said.

Being around sick people for a living had mostly trained Mickey to have no reaction to the sight of them. But Ian looked so awful, and it was so unlike him, that Mickey couldn’t help the words that came out of his mouth. “Jesus, you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ian said miserably. “You comin’ in or what?”

Mickey opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the sound of Ian’s stomach making a truly horrendous gurgling sound. Ian seemed to turn green right before Mickey’s eyes. He clapped a hand over his mouth and sprinted out of the room. Mickey cringed as he heard the sound of Ian being sick in the bathroom. At least he’d made it.

Mickey went over to Ian’s kitchen cabinets and pulled down a glass and filled it with water. He opened a lower drawer and found a soft-looking towel and ran it under the cold tap. He made his way slowly back to Ian’s bathroom, somewhat nervous about the state he’d find him in.

Ian was lying down on the bathroom floor, arms wrapped around the base of the toilet. He let out a moan when Mickey walked into the tiny space and crouched down.

“Brought you some water. Come on, sit up for a sec.”

Ian did as he was told and took the glass with a shaky hand. He took a small sip and handed it back. “I fucking hate kids.”

“They finally nailed you with that stomach virus, huh?” The day before, Ian had texted him to tell him that one of his students had thrown up on his shoes in the middle of class. He only seemed pissed about the shoes, but Mickey knew enough about the Hot Zone-like nature of high schools to predict that Ian was going to catch some kind of bug.

“I’m fine,” Ian insisted pathetically.

Mickey used the wet towel to wipe some of the sweat off of Ian’s face and then let it rest on the back of his neck. “Sure you are.”

“No, I told Mandy I was going to her birthday party. I have to get ready.” But he didn’t move from his spot in the bathroom floor.

“Yeah, Mandy would definitely want you to puke on the skanky-ass dress she bought just for tonight.” He handed Ian the water again and Ian drank from it obediently. “You’re staying home, dumbass.”

“I don’t wanna be sick,” Ian whined. He pouted and looked Mickey up and down. “You look really cute.”

Mickey laughed. “You sound so happy about it.”

“I want you to look cute for _me_. _With_ me. Now you’re gonna go out and party and look cute for some fuckin’ strangers.”

Mickey laughed. “It’s still for you. Come on, let’s get you in bed.” He helped Ian stand up. “You want to brush your teeth?”

“No,” Ian said, leaning heavily against Mickey. “Wanna go to sleep.”

Mickey helped Ian change into a shirt that wasn’t totally soaked in sweat before getting him into bed. He went back into the kitchen to get Ian a refill for his water to leave by the bed. While he was out there, he opened the cabinets to see if Ian had any crackers or tea, but wasn’t exactly surprised to find essentially nothing but protein bars. He poked his head into Ian’s room and saw that his boyfriend had dozed off.

He went outside and down the block to the convenience store, picking up unsalted crackers, minute rice, bananas, and some ginger tea. Back in Ian’s apartment, he left the rice and all but one of the bananas on the counter. He arranged a sleeve of the crackers and a banana on Ian’s nightstand, next to the water. Then he grabbed the garbage in the corner of Ian’s room and found a plastic shopping bag to line it with, placing it on the floor next to the bed.

He sat down next to Ian and gently shook him awake. “Hey,” he whispered.

Ian stirred, moaning a little. “Huh? What?” He tried to sit up, but clearly thought better of it and laid back.

“I bought you some stuff. And there’s a garbage here if ya gotta puke.” Mickey ran his fingers through Ian’s hair, untangling the sweat-dampened strands fondly. Ian might have looked like shit, but he was still fucking gorgeous. Though Mickey admitted there might be something slightly wrong with him to enjoy Ian being so fragile. He supposed he wasn’t a nurse by accident after all.

“You leaving?”

“Yeah, I got to meet up with Mandy and her friends. She’ll skin me alive if I’m late.”

“Don’t dance with any guys.” Ian tried to make his face look deathly serious. The effect was somewhat diminished by his ghostly pallor. “And no making out with anyone.”

Mickey snapped his fingers. “There goes my fuckin’ plans.”

Ian wrapped his fingers around Mickey’s wrist and squeezed. “I’m serious.”

“I know. I’m just messin’ with ya.” Mickey smiled as Ian let his eyes close. “I’m gonna miss ya. Mandy’s probably gonna make me do fuckin’ Jaeger bombs or something.”

“It’s her birthday, be nice,” Ian mumbled. “Gonna miss you, too. Thanks for taking care of me.”

Mickey leaned down to kiss Ian’s forehead. “Anytime, Gallagher. Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the amazing feedback! It was so wonderful to read all of your comments. I really appreciated all of them. I hope this was a satisfying ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos give me life. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at onlysmallfic.


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